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About drevanfrederick

I'm currently typing this out on my iPad. It's the coolest little device ever. Anyways, I'm the best family physician in the county and probably the best dressed, too (thank you, GQ and Esquire). I'm a bachelor only five years out of med school and already live in the best house in Byron City, which I plan to sell one day when I finally move back east near where I went to school (a little school called Columbia, ever heard of it :) ).

First Sybil. Then Matthew. Both had children, both died almost immediately after having that child, both in Season 3. Looks like Downton Abbey is finally hitting its stride as far as completely out of the blue and unnecessary death is concerned. Technically you could count Ethel, too, since her lover died while she was still pregnant. Even though he was a pretty minor character, one thing is for sure: having a baby on Downton means you or your lover is doomed to die.

About 30 seconds from massive Downton fan outrage.

So the question all Downtaddicts are asking themselves is, “Who will be the next character to die immediately after having a child?”

Early speculation has Mr. Bates getting shanked by an ex-prison mate right after leaving the hospital where Anna gives birth to baby Matthew. And then later Daisy dies after giving birth to baby Bates because of complications related to her teen pregnancy. And then Mrs. Patmore dies after giving birth to baby Daisy, which I can only assume is a “I didn’t know I was pregnant” situation. But she dies, not because of the pregnancy, but because she accidentally gets caught in the middle of a knife fight between Thomas and Mrs. O’Brien (which is an awesome scene by the way). And then Mr. Carson dies, not because he fathers a child, but because Downton likes killing our favorite characters for no reason.

Pretty soon we’ll just be left with the baby versions of all our dead favorite characters. If this is some sick way of creating a “Muppet Babies” version of Downton Abbey, I’m not amused.

But this is all speculation. Anyone could die, really. For all we know, Mrs. Hughes will die of milk poisoning, Edith will be killed by her new lover’s crazy wife, Cora will slip on more soap, Isobel will nag Dr. Clarkson to death, Jimmy will burn his beautiful face in a fire which will make all the servant women kill themselves, and Tom will be shot in Ireland by Bono’s great grandfather, leaving us with a sort of Hamlet situation, where everyone dies except, surprisingly, Maggie Smith’s character, who will make a string of classic one liners to a bunch of corpses. And we will all still watch it. Because Maggie Smith is awesome.

Until then, keep watching! Season 4 is right around the corner. And so is a speeding milk truck that will likely kill you on impact.

Like every other patriotic American, I watched President Obama’s inauguration to view a historic event unfold in real time. And also to see Jennifer Hudson, Jay Z, Katy Perry, James Taylor, Kelly Clarkson, and especially, Beyoncé. My fave diva of all time behind Madonna and Lady Gaga.

But I just heard that Beyoncé lip-synched her inauguration performance. Lip-synced! That’s right, it was all a sham. The only true sound coming from the stage at that time was the sound of my world shattering. Is nothing real anymore? My hopes and dreams have all been crushed. Someone call Chris Angel and tell him there is no magic in the world.

I mean, I can’t believe it is true. I watched and re-watched her song many times: her enthusiastic hand gestures, the veins popping out of her neck, and her removing the earpiece because she’s so awesome she doesn’t need no earpiece to touch the hearts of America. All of it, lies? Say it ain’t so, Sasha Fierce!

I haven’t felt this let down since I found out Katy Perry and Russell Brand were getting divorced. Tomorrow, I’ll spend the day hiding under my bed eating saltines and listening to “Mad World” on a loop.

I’m on a strict no-carb diet, and have been for two years now. But being the holidays, and given that I only ate monounsaturated diet B-vitamin soy candy, I figured this holiday I could splurge and eat a carb.

The only question is, which carb-loaded food item should I choose? Should I choose stuffing to go with my sodium-free soy meat turkey? Potatoes smothered with non-fat water-based farm-raised fish-oil gravy? Or perhaps a roll with melted non-hydrogenated preservative-free organic tofu margarine spread? So many choices to go with the delicious feast I have planned! Mmmm! It’s a shame so many of my invited guests have canceled again this year, because they are missing out.

Guess that means more local-grown negative-calorie celery and free-range tuna salad with pepper-water dressing for me! Along with my gluten-free unrefined-flour artisan parsnip pie topped with my famous non-lactose greek-yogurt flaxseed whipped cream sprinkled with festive pine needles. I may even cut loose completely and put a marshmallow on top of my steel-cut black-bean omega-3 fatty acids faux non-sweet potatoes, just like mom used to make, provided I follow it up with my annual post-thanksgiving-calories shame run, where I just run for a really long time until I throw up. Ah, thanksgiving tradition.

I’m a big fan of Downton Abbey. Huge. The Cousin Matthew and Mary love story, the Mr. Bates fiasco, the moral yet flawed Earl of Grantham, the fiendish Thomas, the anxiety-ridden Daisy and her emotionally abusive boss Mrs. Patmore. I love them all.

But I just finished watching Season 2 on Netflix, and I’ll be honest, I’m disappointed with how it ended. World War I ends, Matthew and Mary finally stop being silly and get engaged, Mr. Bates doesn’t get executed and he’s now legally married to the love of his life, Lord Crawly decides NOT have an affair, everyone is happy, everyone is still super rich. And that just sucks.

I don’t mean to tell the writers of Downton Abbey how to do their jobs, but where the hell are they supposed to go with season 3 now? Stories on television thrive on drama, conflict, and prolonging the unrequited love and sexual tension for as long as possible. Exhibit A, The Office (American Version): Jim and Pam apart, best show on television. Jim and Pam together, that annoying married couple with kids no one wants to hang out with.

Annnnd say goodbye to your sexual tension forever.

So I decided to fix the problem. This is how Downton Abbey season 2 SHOULD have ended.

How Downton Abbey Season 2 Should Have Ended

First, a pissed-off Sir Richard publishes the story of Mary getting so rowdy in the sheets with the Turk that she killed the man, causing Mary the anticipated shame that forces her to move to New York City, where all ruined, immoral people go to make a name for themselves.

At the same time, Mr. Bates is sentenced to death and his execution date is set. Miss O’Brien or Thomas or one of those semi-evil characters goes to the execution, and tells the whole Crawly family Mr. Bates is toast. An inconsolable Anna goes to America with Mary to escape the good memories that now haunt her, like when I had to sell that ceramic bowl I made at Color Me Mine with my ex-girlfriend from college on our first date.

Time to break out of this mo-fo.

Meanwhile, Lord Crawly DOES have an affair with that one maid whose name I can’t remember. But he’s a good man at heart, and immediately feels guilty about it and they part ways, just like they did in the real season 2. But the last few shots imply that we haven’t seen the last of the slutty widow maid yet.

While all that is going on, a guilt-ridden Matthew is still crying over the death of Lavinia like a pre-teen little girl who just had her first period. But as he’s wallowing in self-pity while still finding time to gaze just off camera to let all the female viewers bask in the glory of his perfect baby blues, he has a graphic dream where Lavinia appears and tells him to stop being gay and go after his true love. This is followed by some touching scene at Lavinia’s gravesite where he finally lays her and his guilt to rest, giving viewers an opportunity for a gentle cry and an encouraging shout as he runs to the boat dock to stop Mary from leaving for America.

Yup, there he is again, crying his gorgeous baby blue eyes out.

But he’s too late and arrives just in time to see her boat leaving. He sees her on board and yells her name, but a visibly depressed Mary is sulking and staring into the horizon and doesn’t see him. Matthew turns around to leave, all sad and crestfallen as Matthew often is, but out of the corner of his eye he sees a man who appears to be staring at him. It’s Mr. Bates. What?! Twist! No Way! I need to change my pants!!! That’ll make them press “next episode” on their Roku box.

Matthew takes the emaciated and injured Mr. Bates back to his home to care for him, and as they sit sipping tea like proper English gentlemen, Mr. Bates tells Matthew the details of his escape. Mr. Bates was sentenced to hang, but literally seconds before the sentence was to be carried out, the court granted his lawyer’s request to reduce his sentence to life in prison instead of execution. Thomas mistakenly saw someone else get hanged, and since they all have hoods on when they’re hanged, it was an honest mistake. Or was it? Close up of Thomas with a face that’s hiding something, evil music outro …

It feels so good to be evil and gay.

Bates continues his story. After returning to jail, Bates heard about Anna leaving for America, and couldn’t stand to be in prison or live without her. He managed to escape in a really super cool way that they’ll show via flashback. Injured and on the run, he evades policemen and suspicious shopkeepers to arrive at the docks just a few moments too late, but just in time to see his friend Matthew Crawly whimpering like little boy who just found out what sex is and that his parents do it not just to make babies.

So Matthew and Mr. Bates hatch a scheme to escape England and get to America to find the women they love. A few close-ups of their hopeful, dashing faces for swoon-quality, cut to next scene.

By the end of the season finale, we see Mary and Anna arriving in New York City at the start of what would be called the roaring 20s (tell me THAT wouldn’t be a cool setting for season 3), Matthew boarding a ship and sneaking Mr. Bates on as a stow-away or in disguise or something, and Thomas doing something sneaky like he always does.

There she is, slutty maid what’s-her-face.

As the audience is pissing themselves full of anticipation and excitement over what season 3 will bring, we see the jilted Maid what’s-her-name demanding that Lord Crawly divorce his wife and marry her instead or she will cause legal and social problems for the Earl’s family, because she is PREGNANT and likely carrying the true heir of Downton Abbey. DUM dum DAHHH!

End of season. Everyone’s minds are blown. I drop the mic and walk away.

See? That gives Season 3 so much more excitement leading in and a lot of fodder for the writers to work with. They can film half of it in 1920s New York, half of it in post-war Downton Abbey in England. That’s a no-fail formula. Why I’m not an award-winning TV writer yet, I’ll never know. But I do know this. Downton Abbey is an awesome show that could be even better if they actually responded to my fan letters and screenplay critiques. But they don’t respond. Why? Because they are snobs. Just like the ones they created for Downton Abbey. And oh, how I love those snobs.

That’s right, you read the title of the post correctly. I have never seen Star Wars. I’m one of the weirdos that you didn’t think existed anymore outside of the Tibetan mountains and a few Amish settlements, but here I am, a grown-freaking man living in the modern age who
hasn’t seen Star Wars, and you know what? I’m glad. I don’t know why people keep telling Luke that they are his father and I don’t care, and if your only hope is some guy named Obi-Juan Ken Doll or whatever, then you’re pretty much screwed, because that’s a stupid name.

Who are these people? You know what, I don’t care.

How did I manage to go my entire life without seeing Star Wars? Well, I was raised in a very strict home where my parents didn’t allow us to watch stupid things that couldn’t happen in real life. So I also didn’t get to watch Ghostbusters, E.T., Back to the Future, Ferris Beuller’s Day Off, or Amadeus (historically inaccurate movies were out, too). Then in high school I got really involved with the newly formed rap club (I had some mad fresh rhymes), in college and med school I was busy studying and didn’t have time for movies, and then after I graduated I was too busy having a life to care about space ninjas or whatever the story is about. And with every passing year, more and more people are shocked that I haven’t seen those dumb Star Wars movies. They don’t care that we haven’t cured cancer yet or that we still haven’t come up with a way to cancel when we push the wrong button on the elevator, but for some reason the fact that some human beings haven’t seen Star Wars yet fills them with disbelief and anxiety.

I didn’t do it on purpose, I always meant to see them eventually. But now that it has been so long and I’m one of the few people on the planet apparently whose brain hasn’t been smeared by some SciFi popcorn movie, I kind of like that I haven’t seen them. It makes me feel special. Plus, I get to use it to annoy nerds for the rest of my life. That’s a gift you don’t take for granted.

For example, when our county hosted their own ComicCon, I went wearing a shirt that said “I’ve Never Seen Star Wars ” and watched as the nerds fainted in my wake. I told every person holding a light saber that I liked their popsicle walking sticks, and I once told a grown man with a Star Wars backpack (yes, a grown man) that Jar Jar Binks was a way better side-kick than Chewy. I hear he’s in a coma.

Remember, I don’t know who those characters are, but I do my research. And it has paid off.

So yea, I’ve managed not to watch Star Wars for a few decades now and I’ll make it a few more. Maybe in the future when a new study comes out that finds Star Wars gives you eyeball cancer I won’t look so stupid anymore, now will I? No, I won’t. You will, because you won’t have eyes anymore due to the eyeball cancer. The cancer you didn’t cure because you were more worried about getting me to watch those movies. And as the only person left on the earth with eyeballs, I will be your king and watch Gilmore Girls and Private Practice over and over again and tell you how much better it is than Star Wars.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some rare 1979 original Star Wars actions figures I bought off of eBay that I need to burn and post on Youtube. Bwah ha ha…

Just got back from my morning Yoga workout at the Rec Center, and I have to say something. Yoga is a place for people trying to get fit physically, mentally, and spiritually. It’s not a place for you to stare, drool, or pick up on me. I’m not a piece of meat on display, so please, stop staring at me while I’m doing my yoga, ladies. I’m just a guy here to get my Lotus on.

I am NOT your visual yogi playground.

I seriously can’t focus on my side planks when I can see you locking your glance on my tight six-pack and my pelvis muscles that all Abercrombie & Fitch models have. How am I supposed to balance the energies of my chakra when I can hear your ujjayi breaths getting shorter every time I go into cobra. Get a hold of yourself.

I’ve been doing yoga for ten years now, and it’s always the same. Women think that just because I’m wearing skin-tight yoga pants and a Lululemon tank, that gives them permission to stare at my butt when I’m doing my chaturanga and ogle at my chest during lizard. I’m here to achieve super-consciousness, not super-creepiness. These tight pants free my body to reach new poses and inner peace; they do not open it to be your visual playground. Direct your third eye elsewhere.

And it’s not just the girls. Guys do it, too. Oh, yes, I’ve noticed. Just last week I was wearing my pink yoga briefs and lightning streaked tank, and when I took the tank off to get better movement during crow posture, I noticed that just outside the yoga room some beef-headed dude had stopped lifting weights just to stare at me. He even called some of his buddies over to check me out, too. They started cat-calling and everything. Typical men. Pigs. They just drool all over you like you don’t have a brain or a soul. My vinyasa completely stopped flowing, and I had to do some serious camel pose to release all that negative energy.

I seriously need to start doing beach yoga again.

I try to ignore it, but no matter how hard I focus on finding inner peace and oneness through the expression of yoga, I can still feel the stare of the pervert behind me, her eyes locked on my tightening muscles, sucking out my prana with her gaping mouth during bridge pose. Keep in mind that this pose is meant to display my heart to the universe, not my genitals. So while you and I are in this position, the only package you should be concerned with is the package of resentment and anger tucked deep within your subconscious.

I don’t think I’m asking too much. All I want is when we’re doing downward facing dog, that you STAY downward facing. It will improve the aura of the entire room. I gotta run to Whole Foods now. Namaste.

I love the Spring! I’ve taken the day off and am walking through a park right now, typing this post on my iPhone. The sun is shining, the birds are singing and I just…blah! I just walked into a freaking spider web! Plwah! Get it off, get it off! Where’s the spider?! I hate spiders I hate spiders I hate spiders get it off get it off…

Ok, I’m good now. As I was saying, everything during the spring is so full of life and promise. Everything smells fresh and new, like…what is that smell? Hm, that’s weird. Why do those tree blossoms smell like garbage? I mean, they kind of smell good I guess, but they mostly smell like rotting fruit. Uh oh, I’m dry heaving…

Ok, it’s fine, it’s fine. I walked away. Not going to let it ruin my spring day off. I’ll just remove my shoes and walk in the grass barefoot. I love the feel of fresh grass blades between my toes. The warmth of the sun with the cool ground makes me want to throw a Frisbee or fly a kite or…tell me I did not just step in dog crap?! Ew! No no no no no! This is the worst! And in my bare feet!

I’ll just sit over on these park benches and clean my foot off. I can still…Arg! Who left half a hollowed-out watermelon just sitting here? It looks like it’s been here for days! And why are there cigarette butts inside of it? Did some stupid hicks just really need an ashtray? Oh good, the rotting garbage blossoms are falling now. Good thing I have this half a watermelon to puke into.

Seriously, what is wrong with the universe?! I’m flipping out. There’s this big black fly buzzing around me that will NOT leave me alone, there’s a family having a picnic over there blasting meringue music through a blown-out stereo so loud that my fillings hurt, and I’m pretty sure I accidentally swallowed something when getting some water at the drinking fountain. Feels like hair. And now I just stepped in gum. Yup, the same foot that just stepped in dog crap. That’s it. I’m outta here.

I made myself some banana bread earlier this morning that’s cooling on the counter. That sounds good. Should lift my spirits.

There are ants all over my kitchen, eating my banana bread. I hate the spring.